


And Sleep They Try

by ambivalentlangst



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anniversary of Marlas, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Auguste, Whipped Damen, heavily implied sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentlangst/pseuds/ambivalentlangst
Summary: Damen’s thumb goes to rub Laurent's shoulder, a kiss pressed to his lover's nape. With the touch comes a breeze that carries the stench of Marlas, faint though it has grown under a new flag and the country it belongs to. Damen sees Laurent’s lips thin as he stares out the terrace to the soldiers sparring below. Damen is not dense enough to miss the occasion—anniversary—marring the day.





	And Sleep They Try

**Author's Note:**

> I love one (1) Laurent stan, and it's her birthday so en-fucking-joy ho

Damen adores the shade of Laurent’s eyes, blue and delightful in the mid-morning sun. He adores the way his hair shines like a gem with equal brilliance as well and takes care in sliding his tan arm around his lover’s waist in a tender caress. His lips brush the side of his neck, paying no mind to the salt accompanying the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

 

“You’ve riled the servants, sweetheart,” he tells him, the endearment tacked on like always when he feels like teasing. “They’ll gossip that I’ve displeased my fellow king, even after the night we’ve had, gone like you are this morning.” Damen isn’t angry, far from it, only a touch concerned. When they have the time to do so, they typically enjoy staying together in bed for a time after they both wake. Laurent rarely strays from that. As cold as Laurent can be, Damen knows for a fact that he basks in the simple bliss of such moments together just as much as he. Damen, however, is not dense enough to forget the occasion—anniversary—and within his playful jibe comes a question for Laurent’s state of being.

 

“As though they aren’t the one replenishing the oil when we run dry,” Laurent replies in turn, but it lacks his normal verve. Damen’s thumb goes to rub his shoulder, another kiss pressed to his nape. With the touch comes a breeze that carries the stench of Marlas, faint though it has grown under a new flag and the country it belongs to. Damen sees Laurent’s lips thin as he stares out the terrace to the soldiers sparring below.

 

Laurent hasn’t bothered with his usual fanfare, lacks the laces that comprise his painstaking aesthetic. There is little Damen hates more at the end of a long day, when all he wants to do is fall asleep to the feeling of their hearts beating in tandem in the flush of their bare chests.

 

“I was not allowed onto the field,” Laurent murmurs lowly. Damen already knows that, but he understands why it is necessary to say aloud. “For a long time I liked to think that if I was, it might’ve solved something. Foolish of me, but there are a thousand foolish things a boy does when he’s lost his brother.” Laurent’s voice is mocking, as though his younger self is a particularly stupid soldier that needs whipping into shape. Damen is aware that Laurent isn’t angry at him any longer for Auguste’s death. He’s also aware that lack of anger is not the same as not being at fault, and does not erase any of Laurent’s grief. While part of him wishes more than anything to spare Laurent the pain that followed his brother’s death, a more selfish part is grateful beyond belief that fate has brought them together even at Auguste’s expense.

 

Damen’s hands abandon their fleeting ministrations for a more constant hold on Laurent’s waist. It is only maintained for a moment before Laurent breaks away from the strong grasp with ease Damen allots almost no one else. “I’m tired,” he says in the voice he uses when he’s physically present but his mind is long gone. Damen sees the broken glass Laurent is gliding atop of and does not protest despite the work they both know very well is waiting.

 

His eyes follow Laurent’s pale back, exposed as it is by a simple Akielon garb, as it winks out of sight.

 

He spars with a visiting Nikandros and doesn’t beat him with half of his normal enthusiasm or style, to which his friend looks at him with a raised brow and refuses him another round. “You only fight like your snake when you’re worried about him. Go see to it that he’s well. You don’t put up a proper fight like this.” 

 

Damen cracks a smile at that, knowing very well that not giving Nikandros a “proper fight” means he’s getting disgruntled with him. He nods archly. “As you command.” Nikandros rolls his eyes at his teasing and shoves him in the direction of his chambers. Damen isn’t inclined to stop him.

 

Laurent is not receptive to his fretting.

 

“I believe you’ve misunderstood my words. When I said I’ve grown tired of today, I meant it,” Laurent mumbles from his pillows, fair hands fisted in the rumpled duvet to draw it up around him. 

 

Standing in the doorway, Damen shifts from foot to foot, kind face creased with concern. “Laurent—”

 

“I said I’m tired.”

 

Damen frowns, eyeing the drawn drapes and the lamp burning low in the corner. Laurent is vastly more stressed than he lets on to their subjects, but he never fails to fight the feeling with his usual snark and tenacity rather than succumbing. Damen realizes this is different and pads across the room to sit beside him.

 

Laurent, for all that has changed between them, is hardly comfortable expressing weakness in Damen’s presence, let alone anybody else’s. Keeping that in mind, Damen is careful to act as though everything is normal. “Then rest, sweetheart.” Neither are in the mood for banter, but Damen pretends otherwise for the moment.

 

Laurent is silent for a long second, and when he replies at last Damen is easily able to visualize the tightness that must be in his expression, even buried as it is in bedding. “I’ve tried. It would be easier, just for today.”

 

To anybody else, Laurent would not sound perturbed in the sharp, irritated snap of his words. Damen knows otherwise. Laurent is always most brittle before a fall, no matter how minor. Damen is simpler than Laurent, not half as conniving in his own unique prowess, and does not presume to act any differently. As such, he is silent, afraid to shatter the vulnerability Laurent is allowing him a rare glimpse into with his bullheadedness. Laurent seems appreciative of Damen in that he carries on instead of closing himself off. “I think if things were different, you could’ve been friends.”

 

Damen does not have to ask who he’s talking about and cards his fingers gently through the silky strands of hair splayed across their bed. “I would’ve liked that,” he tells Laurent softly. He does not expect Laurent to explain to him the full burden of Auguste’s absence, knows that he has been shouldering it alone for too long to part with any of the weight. Damen doesn’t have any desire to force him. 

 

He bends down and kisses Laurent’s cheek from where it is just barely exposed. Laurent tries to hide it, but Damen catches the subtle curl of his lip in response. He shifts a bit to see Damen more clearly. “Has Nikandros sent you?”

 

Damen snorts. He doesn’t presume to think a kiss has healed the hurt Laurent is feeling on today of all days, but it appears to have dulled the ache of it for the moment, and that makes Damen content. “How could you have possibly come to such a conclusion?”

 

Laurent laughs and makes something warm grow in Damen’s chest at the sound. “You smell like you’ve been sparring, my brute.”

 

Damen grins, staring down at the beauty he loves tangled in their sheets. “A healthy musk for your pleasure, sweetheart.” His heart settles happily at the term being used justly once more.

 

Laurent smacks the hand coming to cup his cheek away lightly. “Bathe, and then we’ll see to any sort of pleasure,” he declares, rolling back over to deny Damen the delight of gazing upon his face. Damen tousles his hair to combat such iciness and stands with a last kiss to his neck.

 

“Anything for you.” Laurent laughs again at the sentiment. Damen can’t think of anything better to serve as his farewell from their room and plans to return just as soon as he’s able.


End file.
